


everything we couldn't say

by essektheylyss (midnightindigo)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Discussion of Death, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Kissing, also Fjorester is cute so, spoilers for episode 124
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29258556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightindigo/pseuds/essektheylyss
Summary: Essek had named his brother on instinct when Fjord had asked for names, so he figures it's important to make an extra stop.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	everything we couldn't say

**Author's Note:**

> Please let them see Verin in canon. Now that he's been mentioned I'm over here like, COME ON. 
> 
> That is all really. I'm so soft over 124.

He stands outside a barebones administrative building that he’s seen once before, though he did not manage to get inside at the time. A couple guards watch them from the doors, looking as severe as this entire town, little more than the barren arctic outpost they have so recently left, and he wonders if it’s some kind of Thelyss familial tradition to wind up in the harshest places.

If it’s tradition to die there, too.

Jester squeezes his hand. “Didn’t he say his father died in Bazzoxan?” she whispers, and he nods, remembering the conversation they’d had so briefly. It feels like a lifetime ago. 

Of course, even Eiselcross’ cold terror feels so distant now that he is in a far more temperate climate, sun beating down overhead this time of year, and he sweats heavily through his armor. It’s familiar, more familiar than anything that has happened in the past ten months. 

He is used to sweating beneath an uncaring sun.

“Yes,” he says, with a large inhale. She squeezes his hand again, and he smiles down at her. She smiles back, though it doesn’t quite reach the lines at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m glad you insisted,” she says softly. 

“It was important.”

It is. The others had gone on ahead, nerves fueling their push for information, anything that might help them in the journey ahead. And there is no real information to be found here, nothing that will keep them alive in the coming days, but it is important nonetheless.

So he had asked around the Lucid Bastion for anyone who might be traveling by magic to Bazzoxan, and Jester had of course accompanied him.

It was mostly practical—she can get them to Nicodranas with ease once they’re done. But he is glad she is the one at his side, regardless.

Besides, she is on her way to have a similar conversation with her own mother after this, and she understands the purpose of this visit far more than some of those without anyone to miss them.

His chest tightens, and he exhales slowly. _Perhaps Caduceus was more suited_ — he thinks, cutting off the thought before he can finish. _No one has died yet. Calm down._

“Alright, best not linger,” he says, eyeing the guards, who seem very interested in why they’re both in full armor standing in front of what amounts to city hall in Bazzoxan, and leading Jester gently toward the door. 

The guards halt them as expected, holding out one hand with the other on the swords at their belts. “State your business.”

“We are seeking an audience with the Taskhand,” Fjord says, bowing his head in respect and apology for taking up their time. “His brother sends word from Eiselcross.” He offers his symbol of the Bright Queen to them, and they examine it with a hint of reverence.

“Isn’t his brother some hot-shot mage? He can’t manage to send his own messages?”

“Oh, he’s, like, super powerful,” Jester insists, and he interjects quickly before the guards can raise a further fuss.

“You will notice that we are not armed, and have no intention of assaulting your commander,” he says, with enough calm to smooth them over rather than raise alarm. “It’s a sensitive message, and not one easily conveyed in so few words.”

The guards glance at each other, then pull the doors open. “Check in with his assistant, at the desk. If he isn’t busy—”

“Of course,” Fjord nods. “Thank you for your time.”

The doors close behind them, heavy, as though prepared for an onslaught. He knows the feeling.

The hobgoblin at the desk peers up at them with mild suspicion. He appears to be in the middle of a very long stack of forms, and Fjord keeps himself from cringing. “May I help you?”

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but we were hoping to speak with the Taskhand, if he’s available. We have a very urgent message to convey from his brother who remains in Eiselcross, and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

“May I take the message?”

“It’s really…”

“It’s important that he gets it directly,” Jester offers quickly, looking solemn.

“It is,” Fjord nods. “And it can’t wait, I’m afraid.”

The hobgoblin looks at them both for a long moment. “From his brother…” He stands, and holds up a finger. “Let me see if he’s available.”

Within a shorter couple of minutes than Fjord had in fact anticipated, they are shuffled into a barebones office, big enough for a desk and a couple chairs and a shelf full of books in undercommon, though a few in common are scattered among the rest. He identifies tomes about the Julous Dominion’s doomed onslaught against the Dwendalian line and one even about the night of violence that spawned the Cerberus Assembly, which Caleb had mentioned once, very briefly. 

In Marquesian, a few about the settling of the Menagerie Coast, notable conflicts in Marquet, and, for some reason, a book he actually recognizes, one kept in Vandran’s possession as well, about the trade routes of the Lucidian Ocean and their dangers.

He raises an eyebrow at the drow who looks up at him, and he is struck for a moment at the familial resemblance, though this man’s hair is long and braided back out of his face, and he wears far more practical armor. He is strikingly young for a commander, though clearly the stress of this place has settled on his face.

“Are you as big a reader as your brother?”

The Taskhand of Bazzoxan stands and holds out a hand, shaking both of theirs in turn. He looks around at his office, already cramped, then shouts after the hobgoblin without any real harshness. “Can you grab me another chair?” 

“Yes sir!” comes the muffled response, and a wooden stool is quickly shuffled inside. Fjord holds out the chair for Jester, and takes the stool.

Finally, Verin Thelyss takes his own seat and smiles tightly at them. “I think my brother would laugh to hear you suggest such a thing. I don’t know anyone who can match him in that regard. History, strategy, philosophy on occasion.”

“Foreign trade,” he remarks, pointing at the book. “I’ve read that one, actually.”

“Have you?” Verin says, and his smile widens. “In my family it is generally suggested that you have a diverse range of knowledge. And this is what is most useful to me, or maybe be useful in the future.”

“Yes, I’ve seen Essek’s library as well.”

“I am surprised,” Verin says, and steeples his fingers, and Fjord has to keep back a laugh at the mannerism that he’s seen so recently. “My brother is a perfectly hospitable individual, but he guards his privacy very carefully. I myself have only been in his home on a number of occasions, but then I suppose I have had responsibilities here as well.”

There is a tightness in Verin’s forehead that he can’t read. Jester has been watching Verin intently, silently, quieter than Fjord has ever seen her, he thinks, and she shifts, but doesn’t speak.

And suddenly he realizes—Verin has not spoken his brother’s name. His mind races as he wonders if Verin knows about Essek’s crime or deception, then he thinks to Essek’s comment as well—they’d had to ask when they’d gotten a ride from a mage at the Bastion for Verin’s name as well, because Essek had not spoken it either.

 _My brother_ , is all either of them have said of each other. 

“Well, he is currently the commander of an outpost outside of Aeor near Eiselcross,” Fjord says slowly.

“That is the felled city, from the Age of Arcanum? I had heard he was in Eiselcross, but I only had vague details as to what he was doing there. It seemed unlikely that he was assisting missionary efforts, knowing my brother,” he says wryly. “But the floating city— that would make sense.”

Fjord takes a deep breath. “Indeed.” He blinks and looks around, and holds up a hand. “Sir—“

“Please, you can call me Verin. If you are friends of my brother—“

“Then please take my word, as a friend of your kin, that I mean you no harm by my next action. I merely need to confirm that this conversation is indeed private. Not for lack of trust between us—there are others who would wish to eavesdrop on anything we may be preparing for our journey back north.”

Verin looks between them curiously, then graciously offers a hand. “Be my guest.”

And he summons the Star Razor to his hand, held upright in such a small space, and Verin leaps out of his chair on instinct, reaching for his own sword on his hip, but when Fjord only holds it there and looks at him, his breathing settles, and he stares with newfound respect at Fjord. “You could’ve warned me.” 

The sparkling sheen of magic filters over his eyes, and he looks around the room. Nothing sparks his attention, no pulsing orbs that might be something following him. The sword shimmers into light and vanishes into his palms. “I did warn you.”

“I expected a spell, not a sword.”

“Well, I can’t help that, now can I?”

Verin looks to Jester. “And am I to understand you also wield a sword as tall I am that you keep on another plane?”

Jester grins, and Fjord catches her tail twitch below where Verin would see it over the desk. His smile twists fondly as she answers, “Oh, no, I just do spells. Well, sometimes I hit things. Usually with a lollipop.”

Verin sinks back into his seat, pushing his hair out of his face. “And how in the hell, may I ask, did you two poor souls find yourself friends with my recluse older brother?”

“He was our handler,” Fjord begins, “when we assisted with locating and retrieving the beacons.”

“Also, we made him dinner and hung out in our hot tub!”

Verin blinks at Jester, turning slowly, and it’s genuinely uncanny how similar his mannerisms are to Essek’s, especially given it seems as though it’s been some time since they’ve interacted.

He briefly wonders what their mother is like, if she is as measured as the two of them, or if she exercises more freedom of expression thanks to her elevated position. 

He has been around political types. He imagines not.

“Well, I’m impressed that anyone has managed to befriend—“ he cuts himself short and straightens his posture, leaning forward. “I apologize, you said this message was urgent. What did my brother wish to convey that he had to send two very… capable individuals such as yourselves?”

Fjord can’t quite tell what word he meant to use to describe the two of them, but Jester puffs up her chest a bit, so he guesses it was likely something along the lines of ‘bizarre.’

“We have, ah, recruited your brother to join us in doing something very stupid—“ he begins.

“And brave,” Jester interjects.

Before he can continue, Verin laughs out loud. “Those are not words anyone has used to describe my brother at any point in his life.”

Jester glances at Fjord, biting her lip, and he nods. “No, I suppose not. Dire times. He wanted us to speak with you, explain, in case—“

“What is it you’re doing?” Verin asks tightly, cutting him off before he can mention the worst case scenario, and all of the humor has drained from his face. 

“We will be with him, as well as our friends, who are in Nicodranas gathering information,” he says gently. It’s as much reassurance as he can offer. “There is a grave danger being summoned within the ruins of Aeor, and I’m afraid it means to consume Exandria.”

“If we don’t stop it,” Jester nods, and her voice is soft and somber. “But we’re… we’re going to stop it.”

Fjord picks up her hand where it’s clasped in her lap and squeezes it.

“And you have dragged my brother into this how?” Verin asks, eyes flickering over the interaction, and reaches for a canteen to sip from as he looks between them. 

“Well, he… he’s in charge of the safety of those at the outpost,” Fjord says, as though it should be explanatory, and it should be, but… he has known Essek before this point. He knows this does not inherently mean anything. “He was adamant about keeping them safe.”

“And you will keep him safe?”

“Well, obviously,” Jester drawls. “I mean, as much as we can. We like him a whole lot.”

“We have grown very… fond of your brother,” Fjord admits, and he thinks it is an understatement, but he isn’t sure how else to describe their relationship without admitting the very tight threads binding them together, knotted in too many places to unravel. 

“Fondness does not do much in a fight, in my experience. It certainly did nothing to help my father.”

The words are sharp, tipped with poison, and Verin ducks his head, resting his elbows on the desk. 

“I apologize. My brother is a grown man, and he can choose whatever foolhardy errand he wishes to pursue. I’m not sure why you are telling me—“

“Because we were asked,” Fjord stresses, and Jester nods to emphasize the point. “Essek remains at the outpost to fulfill his duties while we gather resources, and you were the first person he named to inform of his plans.”

“I am the death notification, then,” Verin snarls. “Not our mother, who has already seen so much loss? Not his superiors in the Lucid Bastion?”

“No one is dead yet,” Fjord soothes. “And you have my word, as one who has left a person behind within the King’s Cage, that I will not let that happen again. Do you understand? If it comes to it, I will carry your brother’s body out of the ruins of Aeor myself and return him to you. You have my word.”

Verin stares between them, mentally putting pieces together, and they let him. “You were the mercenaries. The ones who warned of a demonic force from the mountain.”

“Yes.”

“It did not come to pass.”

“No, and thank the gods for that,” he says, and instinctively pats the holy symbol on his cloak. “And with luck there will be no need for such warnings in the north. But in order to stand a chance, we need your brother to accompany us.”

Verin fidgets suddenly, straightening papers and tapping his toe on the ground. “Of course. Of course, thank you.”

“Verin?” Jester says softly, and he glances up at her again. “Essek cares about you. He cares a lot.”

Verin’s nervous laugh doesn’t quite manage to sound convincing. “I do not imagine he cares as much as you think. We have never managed to get along, as cordial as we may seem in public. Appearances, only.”

“He cares as much as you do.” 

He freezes entirely.

“Perhaps, when we return, you can speak with him,” Fjord offers gently. “I think you may find that he is not as you remember.”

Verin’s smile is sharp as a knife. “If it is not too late. Perhaps.”

“He believes…” Fjord glances to Jester. “He believes there may be another beacon, in the ruins. That there are symbols of… of worship, there. Perhaps we will return victorious with another piece of your god in tow.”

Verin chuckles. “Perhaps. It sounds as though there are many variables.”

Fjord nods, and presses his hands to his knees as he stands. He pulls a letter from his cloak, hastily scrawled, and sets it on the desk. “This is the full contents of what we are up against. I recommend you wait to read it,” he adds quickly, as Verin reaches for it. “It can be a lot to take in, and I presume you will want to finish your shift before you dive in.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. We felt that someone with connections should have the full scale of the threat, in case there is anything to be done about it in the event we fail. We gave the same to Starguide Uraya Hythenos, who is back in Rosohna for the time being.”

“If you fail,” Verin says carefully, seemingly contemplating the folded note before him as though he’s considering ripping it up, “the entire outpost will be destroyed? And all souls there lost?”

“At least. That is only the beginning of how far we believe the carnage will extend.”

He hmphs, a heavy sound in his nose. “Well. It’s nice to know that at least he can finally comprehend the kind of stress I experience from day to day,” he laughs, but it’s not hard to see the fear on his face. He stands to shake their hands again.

“We’re going to succeed,” he offers, eclipsing Verin’s hand with both of his.

“We have to,” Jester agrees, head bobbing, and Verin only stands, frozen in front of them with a strange, hollow smile, as though he has already begun to grieve. 

“You do not intend to speak with my mother?” Fjord squeezes his hand and lets go.

“No.”

“Good, good,” he says, caught by nervous energy again. “No need to worry her yet, I think. Thank you,” he exhales, and Fjord thinks it may have been his first proper breath in several minutes. “Thank you for coming to me. Tell Essek…” He swallows hard, and Jester holds his hand gently. “Tell Essek that I would like to speak with him, the next time he returns to the Dynasty.”

Fjord does not admit that that time may be a long ways off, even if they do succeed and return victorious.

“And tell him… good luck. That goes for all of you.”

“Thank you,” Jester whispers, and Fjord bows gently.

“Thank you, Verin. We will see to him as best we can.”

“Thank you for coming.” 

Verin remains standing, one hand heavy on his desk, until the door has closed behind them. Fjord thinks, with a clearer picture of this family now, that he likely would’ve added something along the lines of, ‘it was a pleasure to meet you,’ if he was in a better state of mind, but he can’t begrudge the man for forgetting niceties at a time like this.

As they step out into the sun, past the guards at the doors, Jester wraps her arm through his and presses closer to him. “It’s sad,” she says, and her smile is tainted with the sadness that she speaks of when he glances down at her.

“What?”

“How much they love each other,” she says. “And they spent so much time just… pretending like they couldn’t show it.”

“Maybe they couldn’t,” he offers.

“Well that’s stupid. It’s stupid not to show people you love them. And now what if it’s too late?”

He stops her, in the middle of this dirt road leading out of the city, dusty from the summer’s drought. “Jester, do I show you that I love you well enough?”

She gapes up at him. “What?”

“Well, I…” He picks up her hands in his gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever learned any better than the two of them. And I wanted to make sure you knew, before it was too late.”

Her confusion turns to something akin to wonder, her lips parted, and she smiles mischievously. “You _do_. But you’ve never _told_ me…”

He flushes. “ _Ah_.”

“ _Fjord_ ,” she groans, still grinning as she draws out the syllable of his name until it occupies all the space in her lungs before she cocks her head and her voice softens. “I love you. Like, a lot.”

“I know,” he smiles, and she swats him on the chest. “I love you, Jes.”

After a moment’s silence, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him fiercely, in the middle of the city, and several guards pause to blink at them before she pulls away. She turns and takes his hand, readying for the journey back to Nicodranas. “We’re gonna stop it, you know.”

He grips her hand tight, like it’s the only lifeline he has. It’s shallow assurances—neither of them can say with certainty what will happen once they enter that city. But they will do it together. This time when they descend into what feel already like the pits of hell, they will not leave anyone behind. And as little assurance as it is, it’s nice to know that he trusts everyone at his side without a shadow of a doubt. It’s more than he can say, most days. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
